


Overflow

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Come as Lube, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, Library Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 16:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: Last night, John and Harold made a bet on whether Harold could go twelve hours wearing a plug.





	Overflow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/gifts).



> This fic is heavily indebted to an incredible piece of artwork from [this post](http://tabomi.tumblr.com/post/164806762144). Thank you, tabomi.

They somehow make it into the library, although they needn't have bothered. Finch sits gingerly in his chair and waits for a number, drumming his fingers on the table. John settles close by and watches him for almost an hour. He shouldn't have let Harold talk him out of bed. They're not doing any good, here. 

John tries to persuade him nothing is happening today. "I think your Machine is giving us a day off."

Harold frowns, clatters vaguely at a few keys. "We'll give it a little longer. Just to be sure."

John leans back in his chair and spreads his legs wider. He doesn't even need to think back over last night in any detail to get hard. Just being in the same room as Finch is enough. Knowing what he did to him. Watching him try not to squirm. There's faint color rising high in Harold's cheeks. John isn't subtle about checking with his eyes whether Harold's trousers are damp or bulging. Harold catches him looking and hides his lap under the desk, tugging his suit jacket closed. 

John smirks, turning his own chair away. He watches the sunlight spill across the floor instead. He can't wait for summer. The dawn will come soon enough then for even early bird Finch to still be in bed at sunrise. John imagines lying awake next to him, Harold's resting features bathed in gentle hues. He thinks about disappearing beneath the covers and slowly waking Harold with his mouth. 

The curving path of the sun leads John's gaze away from the floor and up to the metal collapsing gate which separates their workspace from the stairs. He stares at it and wonders, suddenly, how much weight it could withstand. Better than a wall, because the diamond-shaped gaps would give Harold something to hold onto.

"John," Harold says, at last. "I concede." He's not only referring to the lack of numbers.

John checks his watch. "Are you sure?" He doesn't turn around until Harold groans. 

"Yes," he sighs, exasperated. John watches him grip the armrests as he moves his chair back and stands. "Please," he says, shifting his weight uncomfortably. The inside seam at his left thigh is clearly straining.

John sucks at his teeth, his mouth suddenly too full of saliva. He's half afraid that if he opens his mouth he'll start drooling. He stares and stares at Harold's crotch. It moves closer.

Harold sets his hand on John's shoulder. He leans down to kiss John's temple and whisper in his ear. "Tell me what you were thinking about, just now."

John swallows, rapidly, repeatedly. It's his turn to blush, blinking too fast. He eventually manages, "Nothing."

Harold straightens up and squeezes his shoulder, before letting go. He walks - slowly, awkwardly, stiffly - away from the desk. John swivels his chair back around with his feet, watching him. Watching Harold's round ass in too-tight trousers makes John's dick twitch. 

There's a faint screech of metal as Harold pulls the gate shut. He closes and locks it, leans back against it. He meets John's eyes in a challenge. "If you can't tell me, show me." He starts to unbuckle his belt.

Harold's trousers fall around his ankles before John has made it down the short corridor. He slides to his knees at Harold's feet, helping him step out of them.

"My shoes," Harold says, when John makes no move to untie the laces. 

John shrugs. "Leave them on. The floor's cold." 

Besides, he's more interested in removing Harold's shorts. He kisses at the inside of Harold's knee, dragging his mouth up the inner thigh until he can nuzzle at the tip of Harold's cock, the darker circle spreading on the fabric of Harold's briefs. Harold cries out when he makes contact, an inarticulate wail. While Harold gasps and recovers, John gets his fingertips under the waistband and draws them off, leaves them on the floor. 

Then he starts to push at Harold's thighs. "Legs apart, Harold. Wider."

Harold whimpers. He must be feeling it, inside. John sits back on his heels and reaches up, feeling with thumb and fingers for the base of the plug. It arcs out in two directions, forward and back. The forward part curves close across the perineum, stopping just behind his balls. John hooks a finger either side and gently pulls. John fumbles in the pockets of Harold's discarded trousers for his handkerchief, wrapping it around the toy and stashing the whole thing in his own jacket pocket. He'll clean it later. 

It takes a moment, then John's come from last night begins to trickle out from where the plug was keeping it.

John gets to his feet. He fits his torso against Harold's, shoves his own trousers and boxers off his hips just far enough to free his aching cock. "Hold on tight, Finch," he urges, lifting Harold's arms above his head and curving his hands around the slats in the gate. 

"Oh god," Harold moans, "are you going to pick me -?" He doesn't manage to say 'up' before John has caught him under his thighs and hoisted him off the ground, pressing Harold's knees either side of his waist. They struggle for a moment, the gate wobbling wildly, before Harold's thighs grip him. " _Christ_ , John," he gasps, "this doesn't feel safe."

John almost laughs. "Don't trust me not to drop you?" He rumbles, fitting his cheek alongside Harold's, closing his eyes and biting gently at Harold's ear. Harold shudders all over. John can feel the rhythm of Harold's chest against his own, sucking in shallow breaths.

"Could I hold on round your neck, at least?"

"Don't." John lifts his right hand to clamp around Harold's left wrist, more to strengthen his grip than to restrain him. If Harold puts weight on his neck, John won't be able to move.

Held in place against the metal, his left leg slipping without John's hand to support it, Harold sounds almost hysterical. "Get on with it, then. I feel like I'm dripping everywhere."

John adjusts his stance and slides his cock against the warmth and wetness between Harold's legs. Finding the angle takes a couple of tries, and then he's inside. When he pushes in and finds Harold's prostate - already overstimulated by the plug - Harold yells and comes. John is aware of a wet patch on his shirt, his stomach. The tails of John's jacket tickle his backside as he thrusts. The effort of supporting Harold's weight and the length of time he'd sat in the chair with his hard-on means John can't last long either. Harold comes again when John does, both of them shuddering and rattling the gate.

Afterwards, John carefully lets Harold down, stepping back only once Harold's knees have locked beneath him. Light from the window beside them fills up Harold's lenses, his eyes closed, breathing deeply, a huge sated smile stretching his cheeks. 

And John thinks:  _I can't believe he's mine._


End file.
